Find her first, Holmes
by nibby9
Summary: The serial murders of three teenage girls prove to be almost unexplainable, even for the great consulting detective himself. The addition of the same note clasped in each victim's hand drags up a dark, long forgotten secret of the Holmes family, of someone who ceased to exist. It's a race to stop the next killing as the murderer leaves only one message – 'Find her first, Holmes'.


Emily Harris was unimportant.

At least that's what Sherlock believed. He was sure John would disagree; in fact he was certain of it. No doubt he would be subject to the 'compassion' speech again. Boring.

Not every murder is interesting and Sherlock relied on his cases being just so. Intrigue and mystery fuelled his being, his purpose in life, so when another run of the mill teenage suicide was reported, the consulting detective was simply not interested.

Until.

"It wasn't suicide and there's a note. We need you to come in Sherlock."

"Not interested."

"Trust me, you will be."

"Thank you for being so utterly vague, Lestrade, but I have other plans for today."

"Like?" The Inspector scoffed.

"Such as..." Sherlock's gaze rested on the locked cabinet in the sitting room, the pistol he desired hidden inside after the incident with the wall a few months earlier. "...reading – that's what people like you do for fun now, isn't it?"

"Look, Sherlock, now's not the time for you to go messing about. A girl's been murdered and-"

"An open and shut murder case, I'm sure. Probably the boyfriend, it's always the boyfriend, and I'm sure even your lot would be capable of solving it – that is your job, supposedly."

Sherlock picked up an apple resting on a nearby pile of books and began mindlessly tossing it into the air. _Toss. Catch._ His attention more focussed upon the fruit that the Scotland Yard Inspector on the phone. _Toss._

 _Catch._

 _Toss._

Lestrade sighed. "If you'd let me finish..." _Catch. Toss._ "...you'd know that the reason I want you to come in is because the note has your name on it."

 _Catch._

Now, that was interesting.

"Be there in ten."

The detective placed his phone in his pocket and in one fluid motion had risen from the sofa and taken his jacket from the back of the chair. He'd only reached the top of the stairs before running into John, who was harbouring a scowl and two Tesco bags.

"Where are you going?"

"Have another argument with a machine, did we, John?" The doctor's eyebrows furrowed further in confirmation. Sherlock gave a characteristic half-a-second side smile.

"Just... answer the question, Sherlock."

"Scotland Yard. You coming?"

"I've just –" He gestured to his arms, laden with carrier bags from shopping. John sighed in resignation. "Fine, just give me a sec."

After dumping his grocery bags onto the table, grimacing at the samples of various bodily fluids left haphazardly in situ and quickly half running back to the stairway, the doctor and the impatient detective left 221B Baker Street.

* * *

"..that's my Annie there you see, the one in the blue." He pointed at a figure in sports gear on the tiny screen. "Won the 200m and the 800m last Thurs-"

"Glad to see the renowned police force of Scotland Yard working so tirelessly at their jobs. Now, where's this note." The steely eyes of the trench coat clad consulting detective looked over at the scene in not so much annoyance but general boredom.

"Nice to see you too, Sherlock, John." Lestrade gave a tired nod to the army doctor while placing his phone back into his pocket and signalling for Donovan to go back to her station.

He scratched the back of his head while leading the two new arrivals to the evidence room. "We were just waiting on you, Sherlock. Not much we can do until we find out what this note means."

Lestrade scribbled his signature in the register before bypassing the main desk into the recesses of the store room. He returned with an evidence bag containing a small scrap of paper and motioned for Sherlock and John to follow him back to his office.

Once inside, Lestrade handed the bag to the duo. The plain piece of paper had four words written neatly in black writing in the centre:

" **Find her first, Holmes."**

Sherlock was impossible to read. His eyes glanced over the paper carefully and methodically before thrusting the bag back to the Inspector.

"Find who - another victim, her mother, her sister, her friend, her cat?"

John rolled his eyes.

"That's what we were hoping you would tell us."

"Too little evidence. The paper is from a customised writing set, most likely from a French brand looking at the watermark. The writer is right handed and male, using a Parker fountain pen - arrow nib – with black cartridge ink. I assume there are no fingerprints or other evidential markings or else you would have told me and so the identity of the writer or killer remains a mystery."

"You say writer or killer – aren't they the same thing?" John questioned.

Sherlock sighed. "The killer is most likely not going to write the note himself – too much risk of leaving forensic evidence behind, handwriting recognition and the like. No, if they're smart – which I do hope they are – they will have had someone else to write it for them. Like a mask, hiding any trace of their identity to remain anonymous."

"That still doesn't help us find who killed Emily."

"No, it doesn't. But the meaning of the note may mean more in context so tell me everything you know about this case."

Lestrade slid a brown case file across his desk. Once opened, the first thing to see was an A4 photograph of the corpse. A girl, aged only around 15, with brown hair was positioned lying face up in the hallway of a house, hands clasped at her chest as if she were protecting something or praying. She was still in her school uniform. Lestrade and John were visibly saddened by the picture; Sherlock was unfazed.

"Emily Harris – 16. Killed yesterday at around 5pm. Her mother came home from work to find her like this in the hallway." Lestrade closed his eyes and took a moment. "Initial reports suggested a heart attack but on closer inspection it's looking like she was drugged and electrocuted."

"Electrocuted?" Exclaimed John.

"A high current shock to her chest it seems."

"To keep her positioned just how he wanted her to be found." Sherlock mused. "I assume the note was in her hands?"

"Yes – how did you know?"

"Electrocution can cause early onset rigor mortis in the area where it is applied. Someone wanted to keep her in that pose and with that note hidden as long as possible, but why?"

"That's what we need to figure out. The press have been told that early investigations suggested suicide to prevent any panic about a murderer potentially on the loose. We need to solve this, Sherlock, and quickly."

"I'll be in touch."

And with that, Sherlock stood up with the file, turned on his heel and left the room without another word.

"I guess I best be going too, Greg. We'll find who did this, don't worry." John assured.

"We better." He replied seriously.

John had barely left the office after Sherlock before the phones started ringing and a voice sounded:

"Another girl's dead, chief!" John froze in his tracks. Lestrade flew out of his office towards the commotion.

"Ellen Hunter, Inspector. Same scene." Donovan was briefing the details now. John barely noticed Sherlock come behind him. The stream of details coming from the police sergeant only paused once where she made a special effort to lock eye contact with the only high functioning sociopath in the room.

"Same note."

Sherlock stiffened. "I need to speak to Mycroft."


End file.
